


(But You Could) Take Me All the Way

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2391050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn gets jealous. A Five Times story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(But You Could) Take Me All the Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xhexi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xhexi/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: "Established relationship, Zayn gets jealous of the amount of time Harry is spending with Niall lately. Possessive sex and relationship reaffirming happens. (Please no Narry, they're just really good friends)." 
> 
> I hope you like it, I had fun writing it.

**i.**  
Harry and Niall are tangled on the floor in what Zayn imagines was a hug gone wrong when Zayn arrives at the stadium straight from the airport. 

They’ve had two weeks off and Zayn’s well-rested and ready to get back at it. He had a good break, had some well needed family time but he’s missed the lads. Mostly he’s missed Harry. 

Zayn watches Harry mumble something to Niall who’s laughing into Harry’s chest, Harry’s palm flat on his stomach. 

It’s nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before - they’ve all got an easy physical affection with one another and of the five of them, Niall and Harry have always been the most hands-on. But the tight knot in the pit of his stomach is new, something foreign and little ugly he doesn’t want to put a name to. 

Zayn waits for Harry to catch sight of him and when he does it’s just as nice as he’d hoped it would be, Harry getting to his feet and moving towards Zayn like they aren’t surrounded by crew and he has every intention of kissing him right there. 

“Hi,” Harry says all slow and beaming. He hunches his shoulders, knees bent to match Zayn and pulls Zayn against him in a hug, arms tight around his back, face buried in Zayn’ neck. “Missed you,” Harry says, a rumble of sound that reverberates through Zay and makes that tightness loosen and blossom into something else entirely, something sweet and light. 

Zayn doesn’t say it back but he tightens his arms around Harry’s waist and kisses his hair like it’s enough. 

It’s an endless show that night. All Zayn wants is to get Harry in bed and Harry’s turned up the charm to a hundred and ten tonight, giving Zayn private little smiles, touching his fingers to his hip in passing, coming over to whisper in his ear. 

“I think you should fuck me doggy tonight,” Harry says halfway through Niall’s intro speech. “We haven’t done that in a while.” Harry plays with fire on nights like this, reveling in 60,000 fans who have no idea he’s telling Zayn exactly how he likes it. 

Zayn bites his lip and turns his back to the crowd to press his mouth right up against Harry’s ear, hand low on his back where Harry’s skin is warm and his shirt is damp with sweat. “You’re gagging for it, aren’t you?” Zayn says, keeping his voice low and he’s rewarded with a quiet little groan from Harry. Harry’s better at shaking it off than Zayn is, skipping away to go and flirt with the crowd as Zayn takes a spot beside Louis to drink water and think of something unsexy. 

“Did you miss me?” Harry grins as Zayn shuts the door behind them and pushes Harry up against it, fingers digging into Harry’s hips as he slots his thigh between Harry’s.

“Dunno,” Zayn says, already a little a breathless. He’s been hard for ages now - it doesn’t take much for Harry to get him worked up and Harry was anything but subtle tonight. “I don’t think so,” Zayn says, cocking his head to the side. Harry’s grin just gets wider, giddy almost, like he knows he’s in for it and he yanks Zayn against him. “Liar,” he breathes. 

Zayn doesn’t know if it’s the two weeks between the last time they fucked or if it’s something else but it feels different somehow. Harry _clings_ , touching Zayn like he can’t help himself, arching and rubbing himself against Zayn and he doesn’t stop kissing him, mouth on his throat, sucking kisses to his jaw, pushing his tongue into Zayn’s mouth with little breathless sounds. 

They don’t waste time with foreplay, not tonight, not when it’s been two weeks and they’re both as worked up as they are. 

They get each other out of their clothes, breathless and panting into one another’s mouths. 

Harry gets to his hands and knees in the middle of the bed. He likes to show off but there’s no tease in it tonight, no coy grin tossed over his shoulder. Tonight he’s got his head bowed, shoulders back, eyes shut like he’s concentrating on not coming too soon. Zayn feels it just as much, fingers gripping tight around the base of his cock to keep from shooting off all over Harry’s upturned bum. He steadies Harry with a hand on his back where the skin is damp. 

The first thrust in has them both groaning, Zayn shuddering through it as he grips Harry’s hips and Harry breathes noisily through his teeth.

It ends with Zayn completely covering Harry, an arm wrapped around him to cup his jaw, tilt his head back for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. 

“Harder,” Harry mutters, breaking the kiss to drop his head, hair hanging damply in his face, hands fisted in the sheets to brace their weight.

Zayn lets himself come first and rolls Harry to his back. His cock is hard against his belly and Harry’s a beautiful, sweat soaked mess, cheeks mottled pink and hair matted to his forehead. 

Zayn pushes two fingers into Harry where he’s slick and worked open and takes the tip of Harry’s cock between his lips. 

Harry’s got loads of stamina, Zayn’s seen him go for hours, but tonight it takes only a few minutes of Zayn working his mouth on Harry’s cock and and fucking him in a steady rhythm with his fingers before Harry’s hand goes tight in Zayn’s hair, holding him. There’s loads of it, like Harry’s gone the two weeks without so much as a wank and Zayn doesn’t know the likelihood of it but he quite likes the idea of Harry holding off until they were together. 

Zayn swallows around Harry, the inside of his mouth coated with Harry’s spunk. He crawls up the bed to flop down beside Harry who’s got his eyes closed, head tilted back, chest rising and falling quickly as he catches his breath. 

“Missed you,” Zayns says, running his palm down Harry’s belly, his face tucked in the curve of Harry’s shoulder, lips against his skin. 

“Told you,” Harry sighs, squinting one eye open and giving Zayn a brilliant grin. 

 

 **ii.**  
Zayn’s not a jealous person by nature. He’s always liked his own space and time to himself. Where Harry’s concerned, jealousy is a waste of breath and energy. He’s got so much love and affection to give; trying to reign Harry in would be like trying to put out the sunlight. 

There’s something about the time Harry and Niall are spending together this tour that makes Zayn’s skin itch, makes that ugly little knot in his stomach threaten to grow and spread like a virus. 

Harry’s spent the morning golfing with Niall. Logically, Zayn has nothing to worry about. But the way Niall and Harry make each other laugh, the way they fling themselves towards one another, completely oblivious to the rest of the world, makes Zayn feel like he’s missing something. 

He’s camped out in the back of Bus 1, having a bit of a kip, when Harry comes stumbling down the aisle in his golf kit, his hair pulled back. He’s wearing white trousers and a pale pink top and Zayn hates to admit it but he looks fucking amazing. 

“Hiya,” Harry drawls, coming into the space and scrambling up over Zayn to straddle his hips. He smells like sweat and grass and a little like the cologne Niall wears and Zayn feels that flash of heat in his chest that never works up any steam but seems to live there these days, poking its head out every now and then. 

Zayn’s got one arm folded beneath his head and he grips Harry’s waist with his free hand. Harry’s body’s changed lately, the extra flesh at his hips he came back from three months in Los Angeles with gone, the muscles in his stomach more defined. Zayn strokes his thumb along the waist of Harry’s trousers and tries to let that little nag of irritation slip away now that Harry’s here, come back to see _him_. 

“Did you have fun?” he asks, slipping his hand beneath Harry’s top and palming his stomach, fingers framed by the laurels inked into his skin. 

Harry’s gone a little breathless, distracted. “Yeah, it was sick,” he mumbles. His cheeks are pink from the sun, his nose dotted with a couple new freckles. “Niall’s gotten good, he’s amazing to watch.”

Zayn feels his brow furrow before he can stop it and he knows Harry catches it before he slides his expression back into neutral. 

“What’s that?” Harry says, a hint of a tease in his voice. 

Zayn ignores him and plays dirty to distract Harry from the question, pushing his hand up his belly to rub his thumb over Harry’s nipple, letting his fingernail catch against his skin. 

Zayn’s learned the things that Harry likes well enough and the things that send him over the edge. He always gets off on a little bit of pain and if he’s properly worked up, can come just from having his nipples played with. 

Zayn delights in the knowledge, drawing it out and getting Harry off with his lips and teeth on his skin until Harry’s frantic and demanding. 

Zayn’s still lazy and loose-limbed from his nap but he’s starting to get hard from Harry in his lap, from the way he smells like a morning spent in the sun. 

Zayn wishes they had a room to disappear to, time to spread Harry out and fuck him nice and slow and sweet. Instead they have the bus to themselves for the time being. 

Zayn tugs at the hem of Harry’s top, ridding him of it and letting it fall to the bus floor. He presses both hands to Harry’s chest, palms full of Harry’s pecs, fingers flexing in the muscle there to feel it give and bunch beneath his skin and just watches Harry, the ripple of his stomach, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the way his throat moves as he swallows. 

“Come here,” Zayn says under his breath, moving his hand up to curl in Harry’s hair and tug him down. 

Harry goes easily, shifts his legs beneath him to spread out above Zayn. His lips taste like he had something fruity for lunch, one of those smoothies he’s into lately, pineapple or something on his breath.

Harry rocks his hips, Zayn’s cock hard beneath the swell of his bum and moans into the kiss. 

It’s been like this between them lately, since they’ve been back on tour, and Zayn can’t name it but he knows Harry can feel it too. 

What started out as pulling girls together, progressed to the two of them fucking around after shows to sharing hotel rooms is now _this_ , an unspoken intensity in everything they do, Zayn’s chest tight and his head spinning. 

The kiss heats up until they’re rocking into one another and Zayn wants to get Harry naked. They pull part to get awkwardly out of their clothes, Harry’s knee catching Zayn in the stomach. “Watch it,”Zayn grumbles playfully, swatting Harry’s bum. 

“Sorry,” Harry gasps and then they’re on each other, Harry flat on his back with Zayn scrambling up over him to kiss him hungrily, mouth open and tongue pushing between Harry’s lips to swallow his eager little moans. Harry’s hands are warm on his skin when he slides them down his hips to palm Zayn’s arse, urging him on. 

They haven’t gotten off like this together in ages, just rubbing off against one another and Zayn rather likes it, thinks they should do it more often like this, kissing and sliding their hands over each other’s skin like they’re relearning the landscape of their bodies. 

The kisses get more frantic and breathless as they rock into one another, Zayn moving his hips to slide his cock in the sweat on Harry’s stomach. 

Zayn doesn’t want to stop kissing but he’s close and he wants to come all over Harry, wants to watch himself mark Harry up. He gets to his knees and wraps his hand around his cock, trying like hell to keep his eyes on Harry. 

Harry wraps his own hand around his dick and matches Zayn’s rhythm. It’s an unspoken contest, Zayn grinning a little at the determined set of Harry’s mouth as he wanks himself faster, flicking his thumb over the head of his dick the way he likes, catching underneath the foreskin. 

“Gonna come on you,” Zayn promises as his balls tighten up and he can feel his orgasm building. Harry’s breath hitches and he drags his eyes away from Zayn’s face to where Zayn’s stroking himself, working his cock with his clenched hand, the shiny slick head poking out of his fist. 

Zayn comes first, shuddering through it as he watches his come land on Harry’s stomach. He rises up on his knees to change the angle and his come lands on Harry’s hand. 

Harry’s a filthy fuck and gets off on Zayn’s come on his skin. He’s close and Zayn knows what Harry’s going to do before he does it. He drags his palm down his belly to the mess, gets his hand wet and slick with Zayn’s come and goes back to wanking himself. 

“Fucking filthy,” Zayn tells him with a fond shake of his head and a little gleam in his eyes. “Everyone’s going to know,” he hums with a click of his tongue, thinking about Harry walking out of the bus, Zayn’s jizz drying on his skin, smelling like him. 

He shifts his weight so he can get a hand down between Harry’s legs and cup his balls. It doesn’t take much after that, just a few more frantic strokes and Harry’s coming with a shuddering gasp, come marking him up along with Zayn’s. 

Harry gives Zayn a dirty grin and rubs his hand through the mess on his stomach and Zayn realizes he’s rubbing it in. 

“You’re going to smell like me now,” Zayn tells him, trying to keep how much he likes that idea from showing on his face. 

“Mm, good,” Harry hums and tugs Zayn down against him. 

 

 **iii.**  
“Come and smoke with me and Harry,” Niall says to Zayn after they’ve run off stage in Edinburgh. Liam and Louis have plans with Sophia and Eleanor and Zayn was hoping to get Harry alone. But it’s been a while since he and Niall have spent any amount of time together so he says, “yeah, sounds alright.” 

They camp out in Niall’s room with a trolley full of room service food and two neatly rolled joints between them. 

By the time the first joint’s done, Zayn’s pleasantly buzzed and watching, heavy lidded, as Harry and Niall laugh together over something, heads close. He’s rubbing idly at his stomach, a hand beneath his t-shirt, thinking about how nice they look together, sweet and affectionate. That simmering jealousy is still there but it’s tamped down, muted by the weed in his blood and the happy way Harry laughs. 

Zayn lights the second joint and takes a hit, smoke burning in his lungs, the buzz spreading pleasantly to the tips of his fingers, down his spine. He gets horny when he smokes and watching Harry and Niall makes him want to get Harry alone and reaffirm what’s his. 

Niall’s laughing as he gets to his feet, a hand on Harry’s face, pushing him away. “Gotta wee,” he says and takes off into the bathroom. 

Harry looks over at Zayn. Zayn’s still got a palm on his stomach beneath his t-shirt, fingers stroking his belly idly. Harry’s grin shifts to something darker and he gets on his hands and knees, crawling over to Zayn with his hair flopping in his eyes. He crawls right up over Zayn where he’s reclining on the floor against a pile of pillows, his weight braced on his palms, and leans down until their noses touch. 

Zayn bites his lip to keep from grinning too wide. Sometimes he’s gobsmacked by how _much_ Harry is, that strange mix of sweetness and sexuality directed at him stuns him, knocks him off his feet. 

He’s lazy with his high, limbs loose and relaxed but there’s that little thrum in his chest he’s been getting lately when Harry’s around. 

“Hi,” Harry drawls, slow and languid, reverberating through Zayn. Zayn’s hard and ready to call it a night. 

“You know what would be nice?” Harry mumbles, breath warm against Zayn’s lips. 

Zayn slides a hand down Harry’s back, skin warm beneath the thin material of his t-shirt and palms his hip. “What’s that?” 

Harry ducks his head and noses beneath Zayn’s jaw, rubs his mouth against the stubble there. “If you let me fuck your mouth,” he says and Zayn can feel the smile against his skin. Harry’s voice is rough from smoking up, slower than normal. It makes Zayn’s skin prickle with goose bumps.

Zayn tilts his head back and lets Harry suck at the pulse point at his throat, fingers digging into Harry’s hip. They can’t leave marks on each other without getting an earful from Lou later but Zayn wants it, wants Harry to suck a bruise on his skin as a reminder for later. 

“We could do that,” Zayn agrees a little breathlessly, his mouth gone wet at the suggestion. He’s always had a bit of an oral fixation but sucking Harry’s dick gets him rock hard. Harry, who’s always polite and charming, gets demanding and selfish when he’s got a mouth on his cock and Zayn loves that side of him. 

Niall comes out of the bathroom. “Oy,” he says loudly. “None of that here.” 

Against him, Zayn can feel Harry laughing, shoulders shaking it with it. He pulls back, weight on his knees. “Alright,” he grins, getting to his feet and tugging Zayn up. “We were just leaving.” 

Niall doesn’t protest, just plucks what’s left of the joint off the floor and waves them both away. 

Zayn bumps Niall’s fist with his. “Thanks for the smoke, bro,” he says and Niall just shoos them off.  
“Go on then, you nasty fuckers,” he says with a laugh and Zayn lets Harry pull him down the corridor to their room. 

The door shuts behind them and Zayn’s pulling off his top, tossing it aside, skin hot. Harry’s watching him with a lazy grin, flicking open the button on his jeans. Zayn can see the hard outline of his cock, watches hungrily as Harry tugs his flies open and gets his cock out, thick and curved up hard against his stomach. 

“How do you want it then?” Zayn asks, an eyebrow raised. 

Harry steps closer and puts a hand on Zayn’s shoulder, pushing him to his knees. “Like this,” he says and Zayn licks his lips as Harry wanks himself slowly, eyes flitting between Zayn’s mouth and his eyes. Zayn waits for Harry, nudging the head of his cock against Zayn’s lips. 

Harry’s leaking pre-come and Zayn sucks at the tip, swallowing and shuddering as Harry thrusts shallowly, forcing his cock deeper. 

Harry’s handsy and demanding when he’s sober but high he’s everywhere, fingers possessively touching Zayn’s jaw, forcing his mouth wider, his other hand cupping the back of Zayn’s neck to force himself further into Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn’s eyes are watering and his jaw aches but he’s so fucking hard for it. He doesn’t need anything but this, Harry’s cock in his mouth, making his jaw ache and his eyes water, and a hand on his own, wanking himself almost frantically. 

Zyan arches his neck back, mouth open, tongue out and lets Harry slap the tip of cock against it. Harry’s grinning at him. 

Zayn’s thighs ache from being in this position for so long, his knee twinging a little. He takes his hand off himself to push between Harry’s thighs, a dry finger rubbing behind his balls, stroking along his perineum to his hole. Zayn keeps his finger there, just a hint of suggestion and takes Harry down as far as he can, eyes clenched shut and jaw dropped as wide as it can go until Harry’s nudging at his gag reflex. Zayn makes a little choking sound, gagging a little, spluttering and Harry, who gets off on it because he’s a filthy fuck, clenches his hands in Zayn’s hair and comes like that, spunk hitting the back of Zayn’s throat and forcing him to back off. 

He closes his eyes as Harry’s come lands on his chin and lips, a little getting him on his throat. He’s not far off, can feel his balls draw up tight as his own orgasm builds from somewhere deep in his gut. He strokes himself a little faster, listening to the sounds Harry makes as he comes down, catching his breath. 

“Zayn,” Harry says roughly, pushing his fingers through Zayn’s hair and tilting his head back, “look at me.” 

Zayn forces his eyes open. “You look incredible,” Harry breathes, stroking his fingers down Zayn’s cheek, through his own come. 

Zayn groans when Harry pushes two fingers at his lips, smearing his come on Zayn’s mouth and forcing his fingers inside. Zayn’s face feels hot, embarrassment prickling the skin at the nape of his neck but he sucks Harry’s fingers between his lips and comes just like that, sucking Harry’s come from his skin as he comes over his fist, jizz landing on his belly and thighs. 

“Fuck,” Zayn gasps. Harry pulls his fingers from Zayn’s mouth and Zayn wipes the back of his hand across his lips and chin. He’s shuddering a little.

Harry gets clumsily to his knees and wraps Zayn up in both arms, hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller, fit himself to Zayn as he kisses him sloppily, tongue in Zayn’s mouth, blatantly chasing the taste of his own come. 

 

 **iv.**  
It’s after two am and Zayn’s alone in a hotel room in Paris, working himself up into the mother of all strops. He hadn’t felt like going out after the show, wanted to stay in with Harry who had informed him bright eyed and giddy that he and Niall were going out. 

“You should come,” Harry had said, a hand on Zayn’s lower back. Zayn had begged off feeling irritated and told Harry he’d see him back at the hotel. 

He’s in bed unable to sleep. He’s cross and in the mood for a good fight, a book he’s having trouble concentrating on forgotten beside him, when he hears the lock tumble. The door opens and Harry stumbles in, coming into the dimly lit room looking a mess, glassy eyed and flushed, sweaty from dancing. 

Harry stops when he notices Zayn reclined against the headboard, his glasses on and hair disheveled. “Did you wait up for me?” Harry slurs a little, tugging off his boots and tripping over his feet. “That’s romantic, Zayn.”

“Did you have fun?” Zayn doesn’t care about the answer, feels that niggling little Niall-related jealous knot that lives in his chest these days start to twist and grow. “I was beginning to think I’d have to go out and bring you back,” Zayn says, watching Harry strip completely out of his kit. 

“I’m hot,” Harry mumbles at the raised eyebrows Zayn gives him. “It’s too hot in summer, Zayn. Let’s bring back winter.” 

Harry’s cock is half hard against his thigh as he kicks out of his jeans and stumbles over to Zayn, wrapping a palm around himself and stroking his cock lazily, eyes on Zayn. 

Zayn’s own cock shows interest, likes the way Harry’s stalking towards him as he wanks himself, eyes heavy lidded and hopeful. 

Zayn isn’t quite ready to give in though, as much as he’s in the mood for a little angry sexy, to work out his frustration. “Maybe if you’re having that much fun with Niall, you should go sleep at his.” Zayn regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. They’re ridiculous coming from him. Despite the logical side of him that knows Harry and Niall are mates and nothing more, he wants to feel like his annoyance is justified. He knows how ridiculous he’s being and he tries to let it go, tries to focus on Harry climbing up into the bed, pushing the sheets out of the way to settle on his knees between Zayn’s thighs. 

Harry pushes his hair out of his eyes. “I told Niall you’d be mad,” Harry tells him conversationally. He’s rubbing his fingers in circles on Zayn’s knee, his other hand idling at the waist of Zayn’s pants where his cock is half hard. 

“Not mad,” Zayn says between grit teeth and lets out a breath. “A little frustrated, maybe,” he allows, giving Harry a face. 

“Niall says I’m ridiculous because I told him you’re jealous.” 

Zayn could deny it but there’s no point, he’s acting like a jealous ponce and even drunk, Harry can see right through him. “How about,” Zayn says, curling his fingers in Harry’s hair and bringing him close to change the subject, “we don’t talk about Niall right now.” 

Harry gets up on his knees, over balances and stumbles against Zayn, knocking their foreheads together. “Sorry,” Harry huffs, bracing himself with his hand on Zayn’s stomach. 

“Don’t be cross,” Harry says. He touches his forehead to Zayn’s, going cross-eyed. Zayn gives in a little. 

“You smell like Niall,” he says sounding like a petulant child to his ears. 

“Thought we weren’t talking about him,” Harry breathes out. “But what do you want to do about it?” He’s wanking himself a little faster now and Zayn can tell he’s close to coming - drunk Harry has zero stamina. Harry’s head falls back, eyes closed. “Hmm? You want to come on me?” 

“No,” Zayn grits out, pushing at Harry’s chest. “Don’t think so.” Harry opens his eyes as Zayn pushes him to his back, head at the end of the bed, sweaty curls in his face, eyes glassy. “Think I want to fuck your mouth instead,” Zayn tells him. He reaches behind him for a pillow and gets it beneath Harry’s head. Harry’s already tugging Zayn’s pants, getting them down around his thighs and gripping Zayn’s cock in his hand, his skin warm and a little sweat damp. 

Zayn straddles Harry’s chest. “If you need me to stop,” he says quietly, “give me a pinch. Alright?” 

Harry takes a breath and shakes his head. “Won’t need you to stop,” he mumbles and guides Zayn’s cock into his mouth, head coming up off the pillow to take Zayn deep from the outset. 

Harry uses both hands to grip Zayn’s arse, fingers digging into his flesh and keeps his eyes on Zayn’s. He’s so fucking noisy, his mouth slick and tight, little moans vibrating deep in his chest and breathing loudly through his nose. 

Zayn’s too worked up to make it last any length of time so he concentrates on making it good. Harry’s in some kind of mood. Zayn pushes his hand into the curls at the crown of Harry’s head and holds him against his cock with a steady pressure. 

“Tell me,” Harry gasps, pulling off, pushing at Zayn’s hand with his head. His mouth is obscene, pink and wet and bruised looking, his eyes bright and his face flushed. 

Zayn recognizes that look in Harry’s eyes, that need for validation. “You’re so good,” Zayn tells him quietly. He thumbs Harry’s swollen bottom lip. “You’re so good at that. You make me feel so good, babe.” 

Harry’s eyes slip closed for second, a pleased little sigh escaping him. He turns his head and sucks at Zayn’s thumb. “Just for you,” he says, opening his eyes. “Only for you, Zayn.” 

 

 **v.**  
Zayn’s in a mood tonight. The post-show glow is gone, replaced with an ugly irritation. It’s a new side to himself making itself known over the last month and he’s playing catch up. 

“Zayn,” Harry says, digging his fingertips into Zayn’s hips, matching him step for step as Zayn walks them back towards the bed. The hotel in Milan overlooks the city, lit up and spread out before them and Zayn thinks about fucking with the curtains thrown wide and the windows open, letting everyone know what Harry gets up to when he’s not displaying himself for the world or flirting with a crowd of tens of thousands. 

“I’d do Niall,” Harry had said to sixty thousand screaming fans. Zayn’s not replaying it, but he remembers it clearly, the way the words had sounded and the screams that had rattled his teeth. And he hadn’t missed the look Harry had given him, almost like he was checking to see if Zayn had heard. He had and he can’t stop unhearing it. 

This jealous itch under his skin only rears its head when Niall’s involved. Zayn’s not an irrational, emotional person typically but lately he’s a bear over Harry and all it does is make him irritated, annoyed at mostly himself, frustration making him prickly. 

Zayn doesn’t know if it’s the irritation of Harry flirting with Niall at a performance being filmed for the world to see or if it’s something else entirely but he’s in the mood to get fucked.

They don’t do it often, Zayn likes it well enough but Harry’s a little much for him to take, the kind of dick you feel for days afterwards. 

Now, though, Zayn’s craving that ache. 

Zayn pulls his top off and starts tugging at Harry’s. “Come on, get your kit off,” he hisses, feeling impatient and a little cross. 

Harry seems unphased, letting Zayn yank his t-shirt off and maneuver him towards the bed. Harry’s always so fucking accommodating. 

Harry’s naked in the middle of the bed, wanking himself, watching Zayn fumble in his bag for the lube. 

Zayn kicks out of his pants and trousers and climbs up to lie beside Harry. “Give me your fingers,” he says quietly, trying to keep his voice even. He’s hard and impatient and riled up. 

Harry takes his time with it. He gets Zayn sloppy wet, a mess of lube on his thighs and traces his fingers through it to press the tip of one at Zayn’s hole, rubbing in circles until Zayn relaxes enough to let Harry in, just one at first. 

Zayn can’t watch Harry. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him tonight but there’s a mess of emotion sitting nameless in his gut and he feels out of sorts and agitated with it. He’s so hard and breathless and every press of Harry’s finger inside him makes him feel like crying out. 

The second finger goes in and it hurts, an ache that’s nothing compared to taking Harry’s cock but he focuses on that, the stretch as Harry carefully, methodically fucks him open. 

“Zayn,” Harry says and when Zayn opens his eyes Harry’s hovering above him, eyes dark and intense, scrutinizing Zayn like he’s looking for something. 

Zayn wraps his arm around Harry’s neck, tugging him down and lifting his head up off the pillow to meet him. The kiss is open-mouthed and breathless, both of them panting into each other. Zayn’s started to come out of his mood from Harry’s attention on him.

Harry fucks Zayn with his fingers, kissing the sounds from Zayn’s mouth. Zayn’s started rocking his hips down to meet Harry, legs splayed shamelessly wide. 

Zayn breaks the kiss and pushes at Harry’s shoulder. “Get on your back,” he says roughly. 

Harry withdraws his fingers carefully and rolls to his back, head propped up on the pillows. Zayn finds the lube and pours a copious amount directly onto Harry’s dick just to watch Harry’s hips jerk. He wraps a hand around him and smears the cool slick down the length of Harry’s cock, getting him wet with it. 

Zayn throws a leg over Harry’s hips and settles himself up on his knees, reaching behind him to get Harry properly lined up. He bites his lip as the thick, blunt head of Harry’s cock slides up to nudge at his hole. He feels like he has something to prove. 

Zayn’s stopped breathing. The first press inside feels like it’s too much and his body jerks, instinct to pull away from the pain.

“Zayn,” Harry says between clenched teeth like the strain of holding himself still is too much. There’s sweet concern in his eyes and he runs his palm down Zayn’s side to settle on his thigh, fingers stroking gently. “We don’t have to.”  
“I’m fine,” Zayn lies through his teeth. He’s rock hard and that intense arousal mixed with the pain of the stretch is too much and he wonders if he’s going to come before he gets Harry in him. 

Zayn braces himself with both palms flat on Harry’s stomach and distracts himself with a question. “Would you?” He gasps, holding his weight on his knees and straining thighs, watching Harry breathe through his nose like he does when he’s lifting weights or doing yoga. 

Harry’s brow goes furrowed with confusion. “Would I what?” 

_Leave it alone_ Zayn tells himself but fuck it, he can’t help it. “Would you do Niall?” 

Realization hits Harry square in the face as Zayn watches and instead of being annoyed like any rational human, Harry moans and tightens his grip in Zayn’s thigh, fingers pressing bruises. 

Harry arches a little, back bowing, cock pushing deep and Zayn lets out an embarrassingly undignified sound. “Fuck, Harry,” he says and it sounds like a plea. 

“You’re so fucking sexy when you’re jealous,” Harry groans and Zayn doesn’t bother objecting, it’s so painfully obvious he gets stroppy when Harry’s with Niall, when Niall gets Harry’s focus and attention. 

Zayn’s thighs are straining, his knees aching from holding himself up, stretched on Harry’s cock. Harry lifts a hand like he’s going to stroke Zayn but Zayn slaps him away, too close to coming. He presses Harry’s hand to his stomach. “Don’t touch me,” he gasps, “I don’t want to come yet.” 

Harry groans. “Yeah? You close?”

Like this with just the wide head of Harry’s cock nudging him open, the pressure is intense, this heady mix of pleasure and pain. 

It’s no time at all, Zayn’s gone before Harry gets a proper thrust in, Harry’s hand on his cock wringing an orgasm out of him. 

Zayn’s shuddering, shaking and there’s something tight in his throat like tears. He presses his face to Harry’s shoulder and takes huge, gasping breaths. Harry’s hands are gentle, concerned, rubbing circles in the small of his back. 

“Zayn,” Harry mumbles, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s temple. 

“Go on,” Zayn tells him breathlessly, “do it.” He gets his arms beneath Harry’s shoulders, holds on, teeth clenched. He feels Harry’s hesitation. “Harry,” Zayn urges. “It’s okay. Fuck me.” 

Harry hisses out a surprised breath. He slides his palm down to dig his fingers in the swell of Zayn’s bum and lifts his hips up off the bed, a shallow fuck in that makes Zayn cry out, trembling through it. His face is wet and Harry’s nearly frantic beneath him, fucking Zayn in quick, short thrusts. Zayn feels him go suddenly tense the second before he comes.

Zayn flops to his back next to Harry, wiping at his face and trying to regain some sense that he’s in control. 

Harry’s got his arm flung over his face, breathing deeply. 

“Did you do that on purpose?” Zayn says after a bit when they’ve both mostly come back to themselves. He’s staring at the ceiling, thinking back to the show and the way Harry had watched him. He feels slow and sluggish, a faint light making itself known in some recess of his brain. “You were riling me up.” 

Beside him, Harry doesn’t move and he doesn’t deny it. “Kind of like being reminded that you want me,” he mumbles, looking vulnerable and soft in a way Zayn doesn’t see all that often. 

Zayn thinks about the last month since they’ve been back on tour, about the shift between them. Zayn’s an idiot. “I want you,” he says quietly. “Fuck, Harry. I’m sorry,” Zayn says a little helplessly. He’s no good at this sort of thing. “I’m just, kind of irrational about you, I s’pose.” He reaches for Harry’s hand and traces the cross inked into his skin. “I’m just, like, crazy in love with you,” he says quietly, turning his head on the pillow and forcing himself to meet Harry’s eyes. 

All the breath leaves Harry in a rush of sound , his fingers closing tight around Zayn’s and before Zayn can react Harry’s pulling him close, a hand in his hair. His eyes are bright and his face flushed and he’s beautiful, so fucking lovely. Harry kisses him hard and Zayn can feel him trembling against him, and he thinks he’s such an idiot, for not giving Harry this before now, not being honest. 

There’s no going back now that he’s said it. It’s huge. He’s never felt more overwhelmed in his life. Harry’s kissing him, arm around his waist to haul him close and Zayn _knows_ Harry’s feeling the same. 

“Me too,” Harry tells him breathlessly when he pulls back.


End file.
